Adventures of the Aforementioned
by docs pupil
Summary: Before the Sole Survivor united her eclectic motley in a common cause, they had their own ways of dealing with the average Bostonian's problems.


_(Author's Note: When you dismiss a companion out in the world, they_ _literally_ _walk all the way back to the settlement you chose for them._ _Also, if anyone has any ideas on how to extend this story, all ideas will be welcome._ _)_

Nick Valentine, finding the angry silence between himself and Paladin Danse almost tolerable, decides to liven up the mood of their jaunty to Diamond City. "Who knew you were in the habit of helping the defenseless, Danse." He has a drag of his cigarette. "Walking a civilian all the way home as an armed guard."

As of late, the so called "humorous jabs" at his expense have been annoying him more than usual. Perhaps because they have been occurring in his presence more than usual. "The only reason I walked you here, Synth, is because I was asked to by a fellow Knight of the Brotherhood."

"And here I thought we were starting to get along." The detective takes one last puff of his cigarette stub before flicking it into the nearest garbage can.

The grumpy Paladin watches as the synthetic detective strolls into the city without so much as a second thought, but the two guards eye _him_ suspiciously upon approach. He decides to stomp back to Boston Airport for an update with his superiors.

Diamond City

Keeping her usual vigil out front the Publick Occurrences news office, Piper's sister flags down the detective with the printed word. "Hey Nick!" The little girl runs up to him, pulling a note out of her jacket pocket. "Somebody came here a few hours ago looking for you."

"Did they now?" He opens the dirty piece of paper, making an attempt to read the terrible penmanship. "Barring all the misspelling, I think they're trying to get their supplies back from Raiders." He folds the note back up, slipping it into his overcoat.

"He said you might know where to find Preston Garvey, or their rumored General. He was hoping to hire you to find one of them."

"I do have a secretary for this stuff, you understand," he tells the nosy newspaper girl.

"Yeah, but who'd wanna wait in a smelly old office when they have the keen eye of a junior reporter always waiting outside."

"Waiting for a story, you mean." He ruffles her neatly combed hair, deciding to handle this on his own.

Boston Airport

"This is gonna be good," Hancock stares at the imposing cement structures of the Boston Airport occupied by armed men and women. "I don't see how we're gonna get in without the usual help."

"Just leave it to me, Hancock." The Spymaster replaces his wig with the Lieutenant's hat he borrowed from their fearless leader's closet. "And remember not to give them your name just in case they feel like looking for you later." He brushes at the sleeve of his formal attire.

"Why you brought me here is beyond me, unless you need a handsome face to distract the ladies."

"Let's just say stirring the pot is exactly what we need right now. Ladies not withstanding." He walks unhesitatingly up to the armored sentry on guard. "He's got a message from one your Knights." Deacon jabs his thumb in the direction of the Ghoul to his right.

The Sentry aims his laser rifle at the pair.

"It's the same one who reports to Maxson directly, by the way."

The gate guard waves to someone in the distance, who signals back then runs off. "Wait here," he orders, keeping his gun trained on the two.

Minutes pass before one of their Scribes runs a verbal message back to the guard.

"Follow him." The soldier gestures to the young man with his pointed gun. "And don't stray."

Deacon and Hancock do as they're told without another word. They're lead aboard the infamous Prydwyn, where the disapproval seems to be at an all time high.

The Scribe leads them to one of the emptier verandas overlooking the city. "Identify yourselves."

"Why," Deacon wonders leaning against the rail.

"The Elder refuses all audiences with outsiders. A Paladin who has worked on the outside with your kind has taken the responsibility of hearing your complaint to see if it warrants military action."

"Just call us the Mayor's of Goodneighbor, kid," Hancock snarks.

"See the hats," Deacon adds pointing to his own.

The Scribe gives them both a dirty look, marching out of the room.

The Prydwyn

Busy polishing the dirt and mud of the Wasteland off his pristine armor set, Paladin Danse fails to notice his fellow brother approach. "Paladin, Sir." the young Scribe snaps a salute at the uniformed man.

"At ease Scribe," he orders, returning the gesture. "And report."

"Mayor and Deputy Mayor of Goodneighbor are requesting the assistance of Brotherhood personnel."

Finding the Mayoral titles an unfunny joke perpetrated by one of the Sole Survivor's other allies, he sees to their supposed complaint personally.

"I should have know it would be you two," the Paladin says after saluting the Scribe.

"Aren't you Brotherhood pricks supposed to be about helping people any damn way," Hancock wonders.

"Our mission is to preserve and contain Pre-War technologies so that they are kept away from the hands of the ignorant," he looks at Deacon. "And inhuman." He then turns to Hancock.

"And say this inhuman freak had a tip about your people?" The Ghoul crosses his arms, emphasizing his defiance of his prejudiced attitude.

"The Brotherhood takes care of its own."

"Then I guess your little writer's group stays stuck in the middle of nowhere," the Railroad spy warns, very quietly. "Surrounded by Raiders."

"You'd better tell me what you know, civilian, and maybe you won't be thrown off by order of the Elder."

"Well hang on a minute, Crew Cut." The Mayor remains defiant to the Power Armor-toting zealot. "You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours. That's the way this is gonna work between the three of us."

"Your hands will never get anywhere near me, Freak," the soldier threatens. "Not as long as I draw breath."

The temporarily retired Mayor and Railroad Spymaster laugh.

"He means a favor for a favor," Deacon clarifies shaking his head out of pity.

Danse narrows his eyes. "I don't do 'favors'."

"A mission then," Hancock amends.

"Not for either of your kind. Now leave."

"By the way, " Deacon adjusts his hat. "You're not very threatening in your orange pajamas."

"This is the uniform of the Brotherhood of Steel, and you will not insult it again."

"I ain't got all day, soldier boy. Is it a yes or a no to saving five of you Steel sonuvabitches?"

If the Brotherhood of Steel has taught Danse anything, it's that the greater good comes before everything, even pride.


End file.
